Valentines
by NoOneShallKnow
Summary: Jim is led on an adventure throughout the Enterprise.


The halls of the Enterprise are decorated with hearts cut out from white and pink and red carton paper. Streamers hang from the ceiling, low enough that they brush Jim's head and leave sparkles in his hair. He shakes his head in irritation as the doors to Sickbay whoosh open in front of him. Jim sighs in relief; Bones didn't let the female crew members contaminate his workspace, and the room is blessedly devoid of hearts.

"Hey Bones! What did you call me here for?" Jim asks, bad mood mostly gone. He goes to open the wooden door to Bones' office but an old-fashioned paper taped to the surface catches his eye. He reaches up and pulls it off easily, bringing it down to eye level so he won't have to strain his neck

'**Captain, report to private room three.'**

Jim raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket, making his way down the small corridor housing the doors to the private medical rooms. He stops in front of the door with a three on the digital display and enters his Captain's override. The door whooshes open and he steps inside.

"Lights." Jim says as he looks around. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing in the room, but he figures there'll be something, unless it's some random, pointless prank. He walks along the walls, looking for anything that was out of place in the room. He finds it in the far corner, another piece of paper –this one looking like it's ripped at the bottom- taped to the wall exactly at his eye level.

'_You are of a strange race_

_The most illogical in all of space'_

Jim snorts, eyebrow arching. He slips the piece of paper into his other pocket and leaves the room, wondering. He steps out of the little hallway and sees Bones leaning against a biobed, legs and arms crossed and smirking at him. He holds out yet another slip of paper and Jim takes it from him, watching him suspiciously.

'**Engineering.' **

He walks out without looking back at his friend, ignoring his insane sounding chuckles. He makes his way down to the Engine Room, looking for a flash of green-white somewhere in the room. The crew members bustling around ignore him, used to seeing him wandering around the ship aimlessly when he doesn't have a shift on the Bridge.

Ducking under the very same tube Scotty had been trapped in when they beamed up from Delta Vega, Jim sees the paper hanging from a leather strap that must have previously been holding up one of the thin, smaller tubes running in strange patterns around the large ones. He snatches it, hearing a ripping sound. He has a small moment of undue panic before he notices that all the words are still intact.

'_I see no reason to speak of hearts or flowers_

_As though I am such a coward'_

Jim grins, happy that we won't be finding any flowers or carton cut-out hearts on his adventure. He moves back to the front of the Engine Room, observing the crew. If the pattern keeps on, someone will be giving him a note with his next destination written on it. He waits, leaning against a console. He jumps a bit when someone taps him on the shoulder. He looks back and finds Scotty there, grinning.

"Is this what yer waitin' for, Cap'an?"

He takes the slip of paper without a word and Scotty walks off to continue with his work.

'**Gymnasium.' **

Jim makes it there in just under two minutes, having rushed himself only a little –not that he'd admit that to anyone who'd ask. He spots the next paper easily, up high on the pale blue wall at the far end of the gym. He stops in the middle of the large room, rubbing the back of his neck as he wonders how he'll manage to reach it.

It's when he tilts his head back with an exasperated groan that Jim notices the bars and loops hanging from the ceiling for gymnastics. He remembers in elementary school when half his Physical Education involved twisting and swinging and curving on almost identical equipment. He bites his lip, considering.

Taking a deep breath, Jim backs up until he's a dozen feet behind the first set of hoops. He takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. He bounces on his heals slightly then takes off running, jumping when he's just three feet away. His hands grip tight to the hoops and he forces his weight back and then forward, swinging just high enough to throw his legs up over the bar another five feet away and up.

He hangs there for a moment, breathing hard, smiling at his success. He repeats his earlier movements, pushing his arms back and forth to swing himself far enough. He bends himself backwards, feet touching his shoulders, and latches onto the opening to the gym's ventilation system. He purses his lips, stretching his free arm out as far as it can go.

Just barely managing to tuck his fingers under the paper, Jim pulls it down at the same time as his other hand slips and he goes swinging back down. He bites his lip once more, wondering if he can still drop to the ground like he used to when he was young. He gives a shrug that doesn't look like a shrug and lifts first one leg, pulling it down so it's pressing on the underside of the bar, then straightens the other and pushes with the first.

Jim closes his eyes tight and shifts his weight, landing on his knees on the thick mat covering the floor. Even with the protective padding, his knees ache and he knows there'll be bruises later on.

'_I will not send you chocolates_

_Nor will I mention fate' _

That's what makes him pout; he loves chocolate!

Hearing clapping coming from behind him, Jim stands and turns. Sulu is standing there, his fencing sword propped up against his leg, head tilted.

"Didn't know you could do _that_, Captain." Sulu grins, handing him a slip of paper before walking back to his fencing partner, which just so happens to be Chekov. Jim waves at them distractedly, unfolding the clue.

'**Mess Hall.'**

Jim uses the turbolift just beside the gym to go up to the main floor, walking just a few feet down the hall to reach his destination. He steps in, raising a hand to halt his crew from standing. He looks around and notices the knowing looks some of the crew members shoot him. Not seeing a note anywhere near the tables, Jim shakes his head and walks to the replicator.

Sifting through the options, Jim chuckles deeply when the image of a small slip of paper comes up on the display. He hits the select button on the side and watches as the paper appears on the tray beneath the replicator.

'_I will not speak of forever_

_Nor all its endeavours' _

Another paper appears on the tray after a few seconds and when Jim looks over, Cupcake is standing there with his finger on the select button. He picks it up as Cupcake walks back to his table nearby.

'**Bridge.'**

Jim slips the papers into his pocket as he exits the Mess Hall. He finds himself not minding the streamers much anymore, but the hearts still make him cringe. He resists the urge to tear them down as he turns down a few corridors and then steps onto the Bridge.

He looks over every console and under PADDs then in the gaps between them and the floor. He huffs and crosses his arms, furrowing his brow and tapping his foot. He plops down in his chair, pushing himself in a slow circle. His irritation mounts and he goes faster and faster until he can't distinguish one console from another.

Stopping when he gets too dizzy, he peers down over the edge of the arm rest. He sighs and stands, yelping when he slips and falls back onto the chair. There's a paper on the floor covered with slight traces of dirt from the bottom of his boot –he forgot to clean them after his last away mission again. He leans over and picks it up.

'_There is but one thing I wish to communicate_

_Now, before it is "too late"' _

Jim arches his brow, tilting his head and licking his lips. For some reason, he can't figure out who it is that's leading him on this escapade.

"Captain." A smooth voice comes from the doorway and Jim swivels in his chair. Uhura grins and hands him a neatly folded paper.

'**Observation Deck 2.'**

Uhura waves after him as Jim practically runs back to the turbolift that will take him to the observation deck. He twitches impatiently and actually knocks his shoulder hard against the door as he slips out, not waiting for it to open fully before he shoots down the hall. He steps onto the deck, eyes darting back and forth as he looks for the next slip of white.

It takes him a few minutes, but Jim eventually finds it, taped low on the stark white wall. He pulls it off carefully so as to not tear it in his haste.

'_I believe I am in love with you_

_And I am unsure as of what to do'_

His fingers slip and he unsticks a second paper from the first, and he finds it weird because up until now, all of his clues were given to him by members of his crew.

'**Inform Mr. Scott that you are ready to be beamed.' **

Jim raises an eyebrow again –he seems to be doing that a lot today- and flips open his communicator.

"Kirk to Engineering. Scotty, apparently I'm ready to be beamed. Do I get to know where I'm going?"

"Sorry Cap'an, but I cannae tell ye!" Scotty laughs and a set of silver swirls surrounds him. Jim stumbles slightly as the swirls fade, but he catches himself on the wall he lands in front of. There, right at eye level, is what he guesses to be the end of the poem he's been looking for.

'_I do not wish to compromise our friendship_

_But I find myself in want of a deeper relationship'_

Jim turns around and gasps softly. There's a small table settled close to the far wall, covered in a silky-looking white tablecloth bordered in thick golden thread woven into an intricate pattern. Two plates are there across from each other, white and red napkins peaking out from under them with a fork and knife on each. There's a strange but very beautiful vase placed at the very center of the table and Jim laughs because in it rests a pure white candle shaped like a rose, petals detailed and thorns pointed.

What _really_ catches his eye, though, are the twin Vulcan swords crossed on the wall above the table, framed by the black cloth behind them on the white of the wall.

"Good evening, Jim." Spock says and Jim feels a pleased shiver run down his spine. He turns his head to the left and fights another gasp, this one destined to be loud and breathy. Spock is wearing a long, elegant black silk robe reminiscent of the one he wears during his meditation. The edges are bordered in shimmering silver, the second layer that drops to his feet a deep, smoky grey with no border.

Spock wordlessly points him to the table and Jim walks over to it, slipping onto the cushioned chair carefully as to not disturb the immaculate set up. He traces the Vulcan words on the plates and cutlery as Spock bustles around somewhere on the other side of the room. When he comes over, Spock places a medium sized bowl on Jim's plate and one on his own.

The lettuce is perfectly green and covered with a sweet smelling sauce. There are a few cherry tomatoes and carrot slices and chopped onions and some Vulcan fruits and vegetables he doesn't recognize.

Their gazes stay locked on each other all throughout the meal. Jim chews slowly, savouring the mixed tastes. Jim watches Spock's throat bob as he swallows and Spock watches Jim lick sauce from his lower lip. Jim almost chokes when he feels a soft, bare foot trail over the exposed skin of his ankle. Spock continues eating as normal, eyes dark and intense.

Feeling his cheeks flush, Jim brings his fork to his lips and pulls the speared cherry tomato into his mouth with his tongue, dragging it along the underside of the metal utensil. He doesn't see the way Spock's lips fall apart, tongue darting against the inside of his bottom lip. When Jim looks back up, Spock lifts a glass of water that he brought to the table and tips his head back as he drinks.

His eyes lock on the lines of Spock's throat. He shivers again, almost forgetting to chew his mouthful of salad before he swallows hard. Jim bites his lower lip when Spock's foot trails higher up his leg, holding back a moan from the barely there contact.

Spock sets his fork down on his napkin and stands, moving slowly around the table until he's standing beside Jim. He rests his fingertips on Jim's shoulder, moving them slowly down the soft cotton of his Captain's golden shirtsleeve. He gently scratches his blunt nails over the inside of Jim's elbow before moving lower, curling their hands together.

Jim is panting by then, looking up at Spock through his lashes. Spock tugs gently at his hand, resting a hand on his hip once he's standing and lacing the fingers of their other hands together. He leans in, rubbing the tip of his nose against Jim's before sliding them together, breath slow and warm over his lips. Jim pushes forward and Spock meets him, lips brushing softly. Spock's hand moves from his hip to the back of his neck and Jim moans, free hand coming up to hold onto the Vulcan's shoulder.

Spock pushes Jim back towards the bed, keeping their lips together. When the backs of Jim's knees knock lightly against the edge of the mattress, Spock lowers him onto the thick, dark blue covers, hand cradling his head. He presses kisses in a trail from the corner of his mouth to his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth and nibbling on it.

Jim gasps and tugs at the folds of Spock's black robe, pushing his fingers under the material. Spock pulls back and rids himself of the heavy robe and then the thin undershirt he has beneath it, leaving his hair messy. Jim reaches up and fists a hand in the soft strands, pulling him into a passionate kiss as he pushes a hand up under the material pooled at his waist and skilfully undoes the sash of the Vulcan's robe. Spock moves down to suck at his neck and Jim pushes it off and his briefs down to his knees.

Spock keeps licking and sucking as he lays himself bodily over Jim, easily pushing them down the rest of the way and kicking them to the floor. He pulls back again, slowly slipping his Captain's shirt up and rubbing his warm hands over the cool skin of Jim's belly and chest. Jim shifts impatiently and pulls his shirt off himself, reaching his hands down to unbutton and unzip his pants.

Spock helps him, eagerly but carefully ridding Jim of his pants and boxers. He actually considers folding them, but the look on Jim's face makes him drop them to the floor immediately. There's but a small sliver of blue still visible around blown-wide pupils, eyes half lidded and pleading.

Spock reaches over to the small set of drawers beside his bed and pulls a tube of lube out of the top one. Jim chuckles against Spock's mouth as he laves at his lower lip, letting his legs fall apart so Spock can settle between them. They both gasp when their erections meet and Jim lifts one leg, wrapping it around Spock's waist.

They kiss and kiss and then a slick fingertip is circling his hole and Jim moans, wondering briefly when Spock had time to lube his fingers. Then one pushes inside him and his thoughts cut off at the intense heat. Soon another finger joins the first and Jim cries out breathlessly when they curl at the tips, brushing over a spot that makes his spine tingle and his abdomen twitch.

Jim easily steals the lube from a very distracted Spock and pours a liberal amount over his hand, spilling some over his own belly and the sheets when a particularly hard brush of his prostate makes his whole body convulse. He wraps his slick hand around Spock's flushed, emerald green member, coating the rigid flesh entirely with the chocolate scented liquid.

Spreading his legs wider, one still wrapped around Spock's waist, Jim guides his lover inside his body. He gasps and groans, eyes shutting against the pain. He slowly opens his eyes once Spock is buried to the hilt inside him. His heavy breaths become even heavier when Spock wraps his fingers around Jim's wrist and lifts his hand to his mouth, licking the remaining lube from his palm with the flat of his tongue.

The sight makes most of the pain melt away and Jim cants his hips, pushing back against Spock with a gasping moan. Spock nibbles as his bottom lip almost drunkenly, pulling back and thrusting back in slowly. Jim pants against Spock, mouths open and pressed together in something that isn't quite a kiss. The next few thrusts keep the same slow pace, but they quicken some when Jim rubs their fingertips together and tucks his face into Spock's neck.

Spock pushes in as deep as he can go and stills for a moment, then grinds their hips together. He gives a low moan from somewhere deep in his chest and licks a slow strip up the side of Jim's neck, panting hot, wet breaths into his ear. His tongue darts in a few times and he starts thrusting again.

The very moment Spock brushes his fingertips over his cock, Jim gives a loud cry that Spock easily muffles with his lips and tongue. He fists his hand in Spock's soft hair as he comes over both their chests and bellies, body arching and twitching madly. Spock thrusts again and again and then he's growling against Jim's lips, stilling and coming deep inside him.

They curl together sleepily, Jim spooned against Spock's chest as the Vulcan caresses his abdomen unconsciously. Spock nuzzles his neck and buries his nose in his slightly sweaty hair.

"Y'know, Valentines Day might just be my favourite holiday." Jim mumbles. Then, "Thanks for the poem, Spock. I love you too, just so you know."


End file.
